I am NOT in love
by tanzany
Summary: AU. When did taking someone on a date start symbolizing love? Or what about kisses? Can't you kiss a girl just because you think she's cool? Can't someone kiss a wooer on a friendly date just to carry out what she's always wanted? Jeez... everyone takes everything so seriously. This is what I get for trying to be nice... I'm way too far from liking Son Pan.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All of the characters in this non-cannon (AU) story are owned by Akira Toriyama.**

* * *

**Trunks**

**8:15 a.m.**

_One of Mozart's sonatas echoes down the hallways._ Orange Star High School has this stupid tradition of playing a song before ringing the bells, so we, students, don't have an excuse to be late for class.

A crowd of seniors follows behind me as I walk down the halls. Ah… seniors. It feels good to say I'm already one of them. In no more than two months, I'll be finally gone. I'll get rid of all those teenagers copying everything I do. Sluts who claim to be students won't longer be disturbing me (no, I'm not gay. They simply are more gross than sexy). Teachers, lets not forget about them. I'll finally get rid of people commanding me, giving _me_ orders. About time of switching tables. It all seems too good to be true, but if it's not, at least I'll be somehow free.

Because people really overestimate the power of being famous and popular. It's getting old. Well, not really. It got old when Jun Koyama gave me her A-cupped bra back in the 8th grade to become my popular girlfriend. The annoying part is that I was expecting a B-size. Now my lack of privacy turned into none, like a psychological prison. It's sickening.

So the next time you think of growing up to a rich family to end up being the heir of Capsule Corp, do it more than twice, because it's not as worthy as it seems.

I shut my locker's door to see one of the hottest 12th graders waiting for me behind it. "Hey there." She's smirking at me, her right shoulder leaning on the blue lockers.

"What's up?" I make my way down the hallway. No need to squeeze myself in, they all open up like if I were a blower.

"Wait up!" that squeaky voice that stuns my ears. Though she's my girlfriend, it's one of her many flaws I can't stand. "Trunks!"

"Leave high heels to nightclubs, Marron." My voice teases in a warning tone, still walking forward and without giving a glance behind me. But she's so dumb that she doesn't get it. She gets none of my jokes actually.

I mean, don't resent me. I really like her, but maybe I just want—need—someone with a higher IQ level…? I can't help but mentally slap myself… What am I thinking!? She's, like, literally the _hottest_ girl on campus, with a _capital_ h.

Whatever.

I get rid of that thought as I keep walking down the halls. The sound of her heels clacking on the marble went lowering. I could feel her far from me.

_Phew!_

I must say that being able to walk through the corridors without being pushed is one of the best perks of being me. I could walk blindfolded and still be a hundred percent sure that nothing or no one would hurt me. So I just take my phone out of my pocket and check my inbox. You probably assume my phone is a nonstop message receiver. Which is partly true, if work messages count.

But then I'm stopped. Someone runs into me. Or I run into him/her? Whatever, we come across each other. That someone is a girl. Her black bangs and pale face aren't new to me.

"Hi Trunks…" she manages to not stutter, like other times before.

"Hey… Pam!"

"Pan."

"_Right,_" I try to disguise my shame with nerve. Why can't I ever remember this girl's name!? I scratch the back of my head as I keep checking my messages, "what brings you around?"

She stretches out her arms towards me, holding a yellow folder in her hands. "It's the Sybil essay you asked me to do."

Yeah, I know. It's kind of lame for a senior to ask for a sophomore to make his homework. But in my defense, she's a bookworm, which probably means that she has experience on writing. I'm not really sure though. Of all the essays she's done for me, I've never read one.

I grab it from her hands, but before I can even thank her, she _bows_ and walks past me. I snort. Nobody does that anymore.

**1:20 p.m.**

Time passes by so slowly that it makes me think classes will last forever. Long and boring days like this leave me a throbbing head, how am I supposed to "learn" something with veins protruding from my forehead? Not fair for us.

I finally make it to literature/my last class of the day. And all I can think is _thank Kami_. Because all you do in this class is read. _No_, I don't read, but at least I can fall asleep without being called by the teacher. Because I'm pretty sure that behind that _Don Quixote_ book, he's holding a playboy magazine. His secret is safe as long as he doesn't bother me.

"Okay guys, turn in your essays."

Yeah, maybe it's not always like that. Today was an essay delivery day, which meant talking about the book we were supposed to read, slash pretend to be listening and zone out.

I open the yellow pasteboard folder Pan… or Pam? Whatever, I open the folder the pale girl gave to me earlier today. I'm a little impressed at the work's first sight. It looks so neat and white, like if she had taken care of it with life itself. But I'm used to it, she always does it this way.

I pass it over to the person in front of me, but when I do, I notice this other pinkish paper folded to the half inside the folder. Is that supposed to be for me…? I let my instinct go with the flow and slowly unfold it.

**Pan**

**8:17 a.m.**

I'm starting to regret what I just did.

My head starts filling with these torturing thoughts. _What if he just throws the paper away? What if he doesn't like my drafting? What if he doesn't like __**me**__?_

Jeez… Why did humans have to develop a subconscious mind?

Perhaps I should just exchange folders and make up an excuse… yes, that's right. If I'm not mistaken, he doesn't have Literature until the last period, so that means I have enough time to—wait, no. I can't do that. Bulla said he likes confident girls. What I did requires a lot of nerve and confidence. So I really hope that my feeling-outburst is worth my dignity, it'd better.

"Son Pan!" speaking of the devil…

I shot my locker before turning around, a light growl escaping from my lips. "For the umpteenth time, just _Pan_."

She rolls her turquoise eyes, unlike Trunks' aqua ones. "It's your name, isn't it?"

I sigh deeply. "Whatever."

"So, what happened?"

I wouldn't call us friends. We're more like allies aiming the same target. See, my uncle used to have this girlfriend and he can't let go of her. Stubborn and immature… He's hurting, badly.

But it's understandable, though. I mean, I don't blame Marron Chestnut for choosing Trunks Briefs over, well, uncle Goten.

But in this case, we're talking about _my_ crush for over _3 years_ now. So yes, I do blame her for stealing my ideal-man's heart. No doubt she'll end up shattering it into a million pieces for a better match (if that's even possible).

Plus, she made uncle Goten's life, and I quote, "senseless and pathetic". Not like I'm oh-so-worried about him, but you know, I am. Besides, I don't like this bimbo, so I got an excuse to hate her rather than being my platonic love's girlfriend. He keeps chasing behind her, like a homeless puppy.

For some odd, stupid reason, Bulla likes that homeless puppy.

This is when she comes in, the perfect girl for him. Maybe too cocky for his liking, but she can get anyone she wants eating from the palm of her hand. If we wouldn't be fellow combatants I'd think she's the exact replica of Marron. It makes sense.

But the only problem is that Bulla is shy.

Not in the way she hides from everyone to go unnoticed. Bulla is the kind of shy that is awkward, probably the only thing I like in her.

**2:00 p.m.**

Last bell, finally.

I make an attempt to rush towards my locker. And in about 15 minutes I finally get there. A downside of being a small sophomore is that people don't notice you at all, so you end up all trodden and pushed. Yeah, it's a daily struggle.

I spot the corner of a paper sticking out of my locker's grids. Like if someone was halfway of tucking it in. My nerves are gnawing my insides. As if it were made of a thin layer of glass, I carefully pull it out, to see that it's my letter. The same I gave to Trunks earlier, just that now is folded in 2 halves.

He read it.

I open the locker, just to see if he left a note or something, but all I can see are my books arranged neatly, nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe this is his way of turning me away. What else could I expect?

"So, shall we call it a date?"

The beating of my heart suddenly becomes so strong that it deafens me. It's all I can hear. But my ears manage to catch the words and my brain tries to understand them. His voice is unmistakable, and even though he's facing my back, I got the feeling he's inviting me.

How can I turn him down?

* * *

_Italics_ = emphasize/subconscious thought

A/N: Hi there! This is my first story, so please be nice! Mahalo


	2. Chapter 2

******Disclaimer: All of the characters in this non-cannon (AU) story are owned by Akira Toriyama.**

* * *

**Trunks**

"I must say, Pam— "

"Pan."

"_Pan_," I must remember that this time, "that you got some guts to give me that love letter— "

"It wasn't a love letter." She shyly giggles, softly and quiet. "It's just the way I think of you; my point of view."

"Ah. So you're telling me that talking about how unique my lavender locks are isn't something you love."

Her cheekbones lighten up as she tries to hide her head in a shrug, as if she was a turtle. Trunks 1 – Pan 0.

I see her straighten up. That shy giggle comes again. "Not exactly."

"Just admit it, Pan."

No interruptions? That means… Yes! Got it right this time. She rolls her black-coal eyes at me, but her lips are still pursed in that same repressed smile she had when I asked her out.

Right after school, I brought her to the Mayberry Parlor, probably one of the best ice cream parlors in Japan. Girls love it here, it's all pink and girly and they got any ice cream flavor you can imagine.

I'm such a nice person, fulfilling girls' dreams and so. Giving my time to people who need it. I can't help but smile to myself, I should do this more often. I really deserve an award.

"Um, Trunks." Pan's lids flutter rapidly, like if she had a speck in her eyes or something. I purse my brow.

"Is something wrong with your eyes?"

As soon as I say it, she stops the blinking. "Not really…"

Oh… by the disappointed and shameful look on her face I realize the—failed—trick up her sleeve. She was trying the 'flirty eyes' thing. I let a small laugh come out, innocent and clumsy. Interesting combination.

"What's so funny?"

"Uh?" I shook my head. "Sorry, I was just thinking…"

"…What about?" she's holding the same smile, just that now is sagging a little.

I chuckle. "You're just adorable."

Her weak smile enhances again. I think it even becomes bigger. Her hair is loosely braided, probably was tighter earlier today. I don't know, I didn't really notice her.

She tucks behind her ear a strand that managed to escape the grip. She blushes brightly (again), and I notice soft and spacious freckles sprinkled on her upper cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, only visible when you look up closely, or when you stare. She sheepishly grins to the floor, or well, to the table below us.

She's actually kind of pretty.

"Trunks," she speaks up, not long after thanking me, "there's something you must know."

"What is it, sunshine?"

Uh? _Sunshine_?

I swear I didn't mean to call her that, it just came out naturally. Not that is something Marron wouldn't approve. She wouldn't really care. She'd think it's too childish for her. She'd rather be called "sexy" or "smoking hot". But Pan doesn't seem to be bothered with that nickname. Once again, her cheeks speak for her.

She says something I can barely even hear. I arch an eyebrow. She gets my language.

"I'm lactose intolerant." She mumbles. I stare, deadpanned.

If she were someone else, I'd probably make a fun of her or just leave. But I really feel like I _can't_. She's _my_ wooer, not that I'm running out of those, and I sort of knew she liked me before she told me, but you know. Maybe I like her guts…? Jeez, I don't know.

_Don't let her down._

Whatever.

Before I can say anything that makes me look like an ass, I mentally breathe in and breathe out…

It's basically the same thing as meeting a fan.

I can't be an ass to _my_ fan. Especially when she thinks I'm, according to her letter, "interesting in every possible aspect". I wouldn't want to vanish that idea of me.

"You're here to have fun, aren't you?"

-.-.-

She laughs. I like her laugh. Don't misunderstand me, in the most superficial and irrelevant of ways. It's so bubbly and gentle. It has that raindrop-like ending, and her throat makes an out-of-air noise when she catches her breath back again. It seems so, I don't know, real.

"I can't believe you actually ended up that milkshake!" And the laughter keeps going…

In the meantime,

My insides are rotting. I put my best smile so that she doesn't realize of how nauseous I am. I can imagine how drooly and weary I'm looking. Probably that's what she's laughing so hard at…

What I do for just a 'fan'.

Remember how I said that the Mayberry Parlor had every ice cream flavor in the world? Well, I was forced to drink a _bacon_ milkshake… it wouldn't have tasted _that_ bad if I wouldn't hate pork so much.

**Pan **

_We're holding hands. _

I can barely believe my own thoughts, but if it weren't because of his tight grip, I wouldn't believe it at all.

We've been walking around the Mount Paozu's lake. And I'm still wondering how Gran hasn't seen me through her kitchen window, or how Gramps isn't out here fishing barehanded. Dad… well he must be working hard on his projects. And I don't even want to imagine what uncle Goten's preaching will be like, while he'll actually owe me one. I feel like they're somewhat spying on me, on us. It's bugging me.

_He has a girlfriend._

I shake my head microscopically. I'm not letting those thoughts bother me, not now. It's a quiet environment, all we can listen to is the wind and some crickets starting to chirp. My right fingers are entwined with his left ones.

We stop. He stops walking. I can't leave him behind. He grabs me by the arm and pulls me in front of him. We're face to face now. He looks down at me. I look up at him, his eyes ready to stare into mine. I can see every shade of blue in them. He caresses my cheek. I look down to the grass. He ducks his head below my face to catch my eyes, his left hand in his pocket while the right one still rests on my cheekbone.

"C'mon Pan," his face is still underneath mine, "I think my lips are prettier than my shoes."

And without even having the question, I feel like it's already answered. I'm surprised by a kiss.

-.-.-

"Where've you been?"

"Un—" I stop when I remember I can't call him _that_ in front of anyone. "Goten."

"You should've been here hours ago," and it's not until _then_ when he realizes Trunks standing next to me. The frown he had becomes even narrower than before, and his stare turns into a glare. "What's going on?"

I look down and see how I'm still taking hold of Trunks' hand. I unlace my fingers from his, immediately. As if he had given me an electric shock.

"Hey man," Trunks speaks up, "I just took her for an ice cream and then right back home. Not a big deal."

"Pan is lactose intolerant." Uncle Goten snaps.

"He knows." I try to cut off the tension, but it's nearly impossible. It's incredibly thick, and Trunks isn't even providing any of it.

"Um," he says, "I should get going. Got some duties to finish." And I know he's talking to me, only me. He lightly punches my shoulder. I push his chest playfully as a response, but he doesn't move a millimeter. He's solid, like a wall. He chuckles.

"Goodbye, Pan."

-.-.-

"What in the world is wrong with you?!"

Uncle Goten gets all hysterical when I bring people home, I know that now. He's exaggeratedly moving his hands over his head. He tries to intimidate me, but if this wouldn't feel so wrong I'd probably be holding back my desires to laugh.

"Can't I become friends with new people?"

He gives me a dead look, "You can go jump off a cliff or whatnot as long as you don't bring people to our household." and walks off.

"I didn't _bring_ him," I say, as I follow behind him with long, dragging steps, "he offered! How could I reject _his_ offer? You know how I feel about him!" and now I'm staring at him with my best apologizing, pleading, puppy eyes.

"Jeez Pan," his facial features soften, "but you know the rules. Do you know what could happen to us if anyone finds out that I'm not your brother?"

So every time that he brings up that topic in an argument, I'm left mouth shut. I don't have some other argument to snap back at him. I never do. I nod quietly.

-.-.-

I drop myself backwards to bounce on my bed.

I wonder what Trunks is doing right now. I wonder if he's thinking about me, or why did he kiss me anyway. I actually got a lot of things in mind.

Kami... That moment replays over and over, nonstop in my head. His lips were so warm compared to the breeze. And unlike his gritty hands, they were so soft and gentle to mine. It only lasted about 3 seconds, though. I wished it would've lasted way much more.

But he has a girlfriend. Or had? I'm not sure, I don't think Trunks is the cheating type.

Does this mean I replaced **_Marron Chestnut's_** spot? It's almost unbelievable.

But I can't feel the butterflies that I'm supposed to feel when I'm _in love_. Instead, I feel my stomach up to my throat. I feel nauseous, but at the same time not.

Maybe I'm just nervous.

Yeah, that must be it. Because, what will everyone think when they see me under Trunks Briefs' arm? Or when they see us kissing behind a locker door? This will really be exhausting, but definitely worth it. Bulla will be so proud of me.

Everything will finally fall into place.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so

I'm sacrificing my anonymous-rookie-author-self by posting this chap in an airportnext to many strangers, so you people better've liked this. Mahalo


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally done. Enjoy!**

**********Disclaimer: All of the characters in this AU story are owned by Akira Toriyama.**

* * *

**Pan**

"He said it wasn't a biggie." Bulla walks pretty fast for a 15-and-a-half-year-old on high-heels. I try to catch up with my, um, cheap old and humble moccasins down the hall. Lucky me, she has this amazing power of moving everyone out of her way. "Not spilling the smallest detail."

"…"

"Well?" She expects me to talk; stopping right in the middle of the hallway where any_freaking_one could hear the unwitting whisper I call voice. And for a reason I start to panic because I'll actually _have_ to make a confession in front of a quarter of Orange Star High School, until she grabs my wrist and pulls me into some random classroom. Advanced Algebra.

"…"

"Son Pan. I got your"—poor—"reputation in my hands. I got your biggest secret and you sure as hell know I'm not afraid to leak it out around this kingdom we call school." That's deep, you know, for being Bulla.

I suck my lips in so tight that I'm nearly hurting. She looks into my eyes, like if she tried to dig in them with her own. Like if by staring she'd found out what I was hiding. And she finally did, well, thought so.

Her sleepy eyes start growing awake, as she breathes in a slow, very slow gasp.

"_V-card?_" she manages to motion her lips with no sound coming out of them.

"Ew, no."

She rolls her eyes, a 20% relieved, an 80% annoyed. "Then what?"

"A kiss."

She lets herself drop on a hard wooden desk and all I can think is _ouch_.

"That is _so_ not fair." She says.

"This was your idea, Bulla. It worked out, Marron lost—"

"No she didn't."

"What do you mean?"

She's pointing at me, or more like past me. I turn around. Trunks is there, walking down the corridors like if he owned them—which is true—, laughing and joking and being gorgeous with an arm around Marron's tiny shoulders.

They're coming this way, the _whole_ gang. We're standing in the most intimidating and coolest gang's Algebra classroom. And I turn to Bulla with big panicked murderer eyes.

And I thought: He'll see me and he'll sure tell her about the date.

And I thought: Probably not.

"Weshouldgo." So I let her pull of my wrist and lead my all the way to the entrance.

"Bulla?" That voice. I am so dead.

She stops short, letting my numb wrist free.

"What are you doing here?"

She turns around from behind me, as I stand still, paralyzed in the step I was supposed to take. I see her walking past me, but I pull of her arm as hard as I can, making _me _spin in one foot.

She'll say something stupid that'll make me look like a complete dork. I can't even think about it without the thrills. I have to stop her before—wow, wait. He's _staring_ at _me_. And his stare is awkwardly numbing, and the whole situation gets me dizzy. To the point that I'm not sure what's really going on, the pounding in my ears getting stronger per beat. Making everything more confusing.

I'm not nervous, but dumbfounded. I'm glancing at everything, letting it all sink in.

His lavender mushroom, his confused eyes staring at me—plus other dozen—probably wondering what am I doing with his sister after having our so-called date, Marron's goofy grin, his brawny arm tightly around her wasp waist, Bulla struggling against my grip, and the _Funeral March_ by Chopin playing in the background, giving this whole adventure a dramatic touch. Very Funny.

And I show this smile, the heaviest I've ever had to pull up.

"Hey, Pan." He says, not bothered the slightest bit. Not showing any sign of discomfort. Not moving a finger away from his, um, girlfriend.

I thought: Well, say something.

I thought: A chicken bone is, like, _stuck_ in my throat.

And then I saw everything gray and returning back to normal, like if I'd taken LSD or something (not that I've done drugs before). Like if I'd stood up too fast.

"Hi." I manage to say. But then I feel my eyes puffy and they're not even—oh wait, here comes the rain. And I feel how the salty tears burn my eyes like fire and I wonder how I'm not blind yet. I turn around and at that, I walk away, as fast as brisk walking in the hallways is allowed to.

Just imagine a _sophomore_, crying to a bunch of _seniors_. I cringe at the simple thought.

I look into my locker for a portable mirror, if I happen own one. I'm almost sure I do, maybe it's somewhere in between my books. Yup, here it is, cracked and small and dusty.

_There's not enough ti-ime. _My inner-self singsongs. _The symphony is almost o-ver._

As I give a small glance at myself I can see how swollen and wet I'm looking. When did the first teardrop fell? I thought I had it all under control. So I try my best to clean the mess and cover it up. I look at myself one last time. Yes, ready to—wait, lavender and tan and turquoise behind me.

"What's going on?" I hear him say. More like 'what in the world _isn't_ going on?'

But I can't dare myself to say that. I can't even dare to turn around. Inhale… Exhale—don't hyperventilate. There you go… easy. My shoulders rise and fall softly at the rhythm of my breathing. So I turn around, fighting the needs to sniff so that he doesn't know about, well, that.

"What do you mean?"

But yeah, he's not blind, or stupid.

"Why did you run off crying?"

"I wasn't." So I grab a random book out of my locker, and squeeze in through the crowd, not really having some specific place to go (Of course I do, it's class change).

I feel this huge weight off my back and shoulders and basically from all over my body. And this only means one thing, and I don't really want to know. But I did. I knew Trunks was following behind me.

"C'mon." He sighs, grabbing me by the arm. A lot of people are staring, so I just suggest going somewhere else, more private.

"Pan, I thought you'd understand."

We're in the dark, and for a reason my eyes can't adapt to it. The janitor's closet turned out to be a stifling windowless box. It smells like chlorine and dust and Trunks.

"Can we get out of here?"

"It was just a game, Pan."

"I'm claustrophobic."—Lie. I just don't feel like listening the rest of 'it was just a game'.

"Listen," but he proceeds anyway. "I have a girlfriend, and I like her. I'm not going to act like nothing happened between us. You're the only girl that has ever, like, _confessed _to me, and I don't know. I guess I didn't want to leave you hanging just, like, _there_. You know what I mean?" So I just nod, but then I realize we're blind. "I know what it's like to be humiliated.

"Really?" I ask, rather disbelieving.

"Well, no. But I can imagine."

And I wanted to tell him. Tell him that sooner or later he was going to leave me hanging anyway. Tell him that while it meant nothing to him, it meant the world to me. But that'd make me look weak and small and pathetic and pitiful.

"Oh."

"And it's not that I don't like you, but Marron is Marron." And I'm just Pan. "You're too young."

"…"

"Pan, the least I want to do is hurting you." But now that he mentions it, that's exactly what he's making me feel. Not nervousness, or butterflies, or anger, not even disappointment. Pain.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Where did you—oh. Hi abs, hi chest."

I hear his low-tuned chuckle, his chest vibrating under my fingertips. "So, all cool?"

"Sure."—Lie, again. I feel like a homeless bum being rescued from poverty and drug addiction. And the worst part is that I didn't want that help, I didn't need that charity. I would've rather being shot straight on the head than 5 times on the chest.

…

**2:40 p.m.**

"Why didn't you _say_ anything?" Bulla cares a little too much about this whole Anti-Marron thing, and not because I'm hurting or whatnot. She has certain hate for her, I don't know. I hear her heels clacking against the concrete sidewalk, rapid short strides from one corner to another.

"What was I supposed to tell him?"

"I don't know, something. _Anything_!"

And I stay quiet, not feeling like adding fuel to the fire. Not that we're arguing, Bulla _is_ the fire. She stops, looks at me, and just now I realize she was making a plan up.

"Feel like getting popular?" and she's smirking evilly at me. Not like a foe but like an ally. And I'm not sure whether to be scared or excited, but either way I just nod.

* * *

Pan sounded a little desperate in this chap, and Trunks is such a blind jerk why did I even make him up like that? Tell me what you think guys, mahalo :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Guest: Thank you so much! I'm glad you got to the third chapter lol!**

**Charismatic Beauty: lol yeah, Pan was confused too!**

**************AnotherDamnMexican149: yeah, Trunks is a bit of a jerk lol. But thank you, here you go.**

* * *

**************Disclaimer: All of the characters in this AU story are owned by Akira Toriyama.**

******WARNING lemon bellow**

* * *

**Trunks**

"_Yes_! Oh, Trunks! I _love_ you!"

The waves of pleasure keep increasing until I reach my climax. I see her bouncing on me, her black lace bra keeping her breasts strongly gathered. Her tan skin is literally glowing like gold with the thin layer of sweat that covers it, the piercing on her bellybutton making a jingle-like noise.

"_Yes_, baby!" she's quite loud—so are most of the people who stay in this cheap motel—, but _Kami,_ she knows how to make someone happy. Marron is _so_ darn good when it comes to sex.

"Daddy would be so mad." hypothetically speaking, of course. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, and she'd still be a virgin. He's dead, after all.

"Happy fifth anniversary." I say, panting.

"This is _so_ wrong." She holds the quilt to her chest, panting back. Of course it is, just imagine celebrating one more year of not having a father with consolation _sex_. But God may forgive me, us. It feels great.

"So," she sits up, grabbing my suit shirt from the floor. And as she bends over, I see her backbones mark on the surface of her silky skin. Her tiny waist expands as it meets her butt. And it sort of bothers me that she keeps stealing my clothes, but the view is worth it. "Who is this Son Pan?"

And I just scoff, because it really isn't that hard to explain. It's actually not hard at all. "A sophomore."

"Yeah, I heard _you_ took that sophomore on a date," and she stands up, the bathroom's light making my shirt translucent, "is that true?"

I can see the shadow of her curves.

"C'mon, babe. You know I'm nuts about you." Uh well, 'nuts' is a strong word. But yeah, I'd rather lying and keeping her, than not having her at all. So I find myself standing completely naked behind her, my arms managing to wrap under her crossed ones.

"And other stuff too." she continues, unlocking my hands with her own.

"Like what?"

"They saw you two sneaking into the janitor's closet."

"She's just a girl, Marron, a girl with a crush on me. Nothing happened."

"And you kissed her." she says, as I'm still facing her back.

"I was just playing."

And then everything becomes quiet. A thoughtful silence for her whilst an awkward one for me.

"Trunks," her voice is hoarse, and quiet, and perfectly fitting to her sexy-self in the middle of the night. I like this Marron. Perhaps the only reason I'm dating her is to witness this side of her, a side that only comes out to its surface around me (and sex, of course). Perhaps I'm in love. "What starts off as a game, might end up turning into something else. Be careful."

But then, almost instantly, I find myself thinking about Pan. About the bubbly laugh and the freckles and her paleness and the light bangs falling over her eyelashes. Ha. 'Something else'? 'Be careful'? Ridiculous.

"What's ridiculous?" she asks, and my eyes go large. Did I say that out loud?

"I just can't believe you actually think I'd choose her over you."

She turns around and stands on her tiptoes to tenderly kiss my lips, the cotton brushing me softly. "I love you." She whispers.

Yup. "Me too."

…

**12 p.m.**

"FUCK!"

I don't always swear. Far less I scream while swearing. But when I do, I must have a really good reason. (A) Or someone else ate _my_ food, or (B) I lost a fight with dad, which turns that "not always" into, well, everyday.

"Your dodges are slag." He states, giving me a strong pat on my naked, wounded back. I shudder.

My body is soaked in a mix of my own blood and sweat, unlike dad's thin layer of what looks like oil.

He likes training me, a.k.a. "making me stronger". I think that's just an excuse to beat me up. Ever since I could remember, I'm forced to train. Nothing I can complain about, it's the only thing I can actually do well. Winning tournaments, getting scholarships. Besides, these muscles can't be formed on their own.

"No! _Gohan_, I told you a _zillion_ times that…" For mom to yell at you like _that_ through a phone call, you must be really stupid. And yeah, I can tell this Gohan is sort of clumsy. Mom spends most of her work-time nagging at this man. She even spends most of her dark scolds on him than on us, her children. I bet two 4%'s of mom's daily anger are wasted on Bulla and I, while the other 92% falls straight and automatically on her personal assistant's head.

"So where were you last night?" she asks, and I'm not sure if she's talking to me or to the small device hooked to her ear. But then I realize it's off, as she unhooks and puts it on the small kitchen island. "Why weren't you at the Chestnut's place?"

"I didn't know I _had_ to be there."

I can see it in her eyes. Here comes that 4%.

"Eighteen"—Marron's mother, who's actual name is Margaret. But her volleyball player number and her boyfriends and the guys she got laid with explain why everyone called her by a number. Yeah, _called_, because mom doesn't seem to remember her real name—"seemed quite disappointed you left your girlfriend all alone in such a tragic day."

But I know she doesn't even care. And she looks at me, waiting for an answer. And I think might I know more about Mrs. Chestnut than I probably should. But then I find myself daydreaming, freckles and jingly laughs.

"What's that?" she asks, motioning her head towards me, trying to point out something. "Is that a hickey?"

Shit.

"Trunks Vegeta Briefs," Great, here comes the preaching. I mean it's rather boring. So I'm not sure when exactly I stopped listening, but then I catch up. "You're there only when you want to be, right?"

So I nod, yes mom, I mutter. But then my brain processes the last words she said, and I'm all messed up. What? No, no that's not right. Is it? And she scoffs, humorlessly.

"I love her, mom."

And she does that again, it's sort of annoying. "Dinner will be done in an hour."

…

The heat of the steaming water runs down my body, and even though it's supposed to burn, I'm practically numb. The unpleasant pain turned into a soothing massage over the years; almost like hot rocks on your back—if that's supposed to feel good.

"TRUNKS!" Bulla bangs loudly on her door.

Yeah, I'm taking a shower in _her_ bathroom.

When I was a kid—back to the glorious days when Bulla didn't exist—I chose the biggest bedroom of the newly built mansion. Of course 3-year-olds don't take in account the size of their bathrooms or showers. But as the time went on and I went growing along, I realized that yeah, size did matter and not only for playrooms. And there was nothing I could do about it, because stupid Bulla was already born and installed.

So my bathroom turned out to be a small box with a small tub. The water coming from the shower hits straight on my chest, so when I want to wet my hair I have to _squat_ and bent.

Not the best way to relax.

"C'mon Trunks!" _Bang, bang, bang_. Neither is this, but at least the water hits my head without me having to flex.

"Jesus, Bulla! Can't you just piss the _fuck_ off?!" Also (C) When Bulla yells at me.

I wrap a towel around my waist without even getting myself dry. I fucking hate prom.

* * *

You probably think this chapter was pointless and irrelevant, but it's not. Thank you!

**Disclaimer:** I got the "squat in the shower" from a book, I bet you know which one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Charismatic Beauty: Lol thank you. Well, this wasn't soon but here you go!**

**polkadotpublicity: I'm glad you can relate to (technically) my girls! Trying to be fair with most. Thank you!**

* * *

**Pan**

"Go to prom with Trunks' sister?" I notice certain bitter as uncle Goten mentions his name. "I shall pass."

"What? But why?"

"She's a Briefs."

I have the urge of rolling my eyes at him, but no. I can't. If I really want to be part of Bulla's plan I _must_ make him take her to prom. "If you only gave her a chance!"

"Why are you so damn pushy?" he growls, he always growls. Sometimes I miss the sweet and clumsy uncle Goten. Sometimes. "Does she have a crush on me or something?"

"What?" I say, my pitch higher than I expected it to be. And I let a long and ridiculously overreacted laugh come out. "Of course not." But he didn't seem to notice it was fake. Toughness won't take away his naivety. "We just need someone to give us a ride, so we thought maybe you wanted to come, too." Phew, _good job, Pan_, I thought, _you didn't stutter much_.

"So let me get this straight," I sigh my lungs out, trying to not sound much like an enraged bull. "You want me to help you sneak into my prom?"

I first started shaking my head no, because I wouldn't call it "sneaking in". No, I'm going with Bulla Briefs. The Briefs are _always_ invited to parties. But yeah, we're sophomores, and this prom is meant to be for seniors. So I guess that's exactly what we're planning to do. So I turn the shake into a final nod, and he chuckles. That's it, done deal; I see it in his smirk.

"I'll pick you girls up at 10."

…

"Blue suits you well." I can't believe my eyes.

"I look like a slut."

Uncle Goten is really going to kill me, and if he doesn't, these high-heels sure will. My ankles and my knees and my calves and my legs in general are too weak to keep me standing. And the dress, oh God, if it can actually be called a dress. Strapless, doesn't even reach my mid-tight, and too tight around my body. It's an almost-white blue that makes my skin look paler than it already is.

And I'm staring at myself, in a full-sized mirror attached to the door of Bulla's room. A strand of my hair is pinned up, uncovering my left ear. Neatly ironed, I must say. I never thought my hair was so long, it reaches down to my middle when it's straightened, and well, combed at last. At least the only make up I'm wearing is eyeliner and a small brushed of mascara that makes my eyes look sort of, wider.

"Shit Pan, you almost make me want to come out for you."

Yeah, almost. Because the only reason that stops her from being a lesbian is that she's too vain to like some other girl but herself. So she holds my face with one of her hands—squeezing my cheeks a bit harder than she probably should—to apply a transparent lip-gloss with her free one.

"There. _Goddess_." And I can't help but to blush. "Wow, wait." She starts pinching my cheeks like if her life depended on it, like if she's enjoying it—which she most likely is. And I yelp, and she shushes me, hold it, she says, beauty costs.

And as the doorbell rings, the bluenette runs and hops down the staircase effortlessly while I'm struggling to take my second step.

…

I'd like to say that I learned how not to tremble on these shoes, or that everything went all right according to the plan. But sadly, it turned out to be even worse than what I expected the worst scenario to be, and I tend to think realistically—_and_ that's already bad enough. See, my realistic is more like everyone's pessimist.

I never worried about Goten and Bulla. They had quite a good chemistry. Let me put it this way, Uncle Goten never called my attention when he saw me—because he never did, not even a glance. Perhaps I should've been jealous that Bulla looked so much curvier and more voluptuous than I did, or that she got all the stares—including Goten's—, but the gratefulness was more. Remember how I said Bulla could get literally _anyone_ eating from the palm of her hand? Well, Goten is not exceptional. Which is good, I guess.

And there he was.

"Hey." I said from behind him, as he was staring at something from the entrance of the gym. He turned around; his hands were in his fancy, black tuxedo's pockets. And unlike many others' black and red bows, his was gray, with thin, white, diagonal stripes. And his hair, oh my. Revealing details of his face I missed before, like the small chickenpox scar on his temple. It was pulled backwards, with too much gel on it that it almost looked solid. It was a whole new Trunks Briefs.

"Pan?" but that didn't sound as amused or surprised as I'd dreamt it to be. It was a mix of bitterness and annoyance and confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Um, I just—"

He sighed a small chuckle, apologizing. "Sorry," he said, "It's been a long night."

And as the blueness of the night lit his face I noticed his turquoise eyes crystallize.

"Are you okay?" I hesitated.

He said a solid "yes", cleared his throat and then added, "I just hate this kind of,"—_ahem_—"things."

And I didn't want to, but I giggled before covering my mouth, but he smiled, and I felt those tingles you feel on the pit of your stomach when you've done something right.

"I'm sorry," he said right after, "I've been too insensible with all of this,"—and lazily motioned his pointer finger towards both of us repeatedly—"I guess I was just too stressed about graduation."

"It's okay." I said, because it really was, because I wasn't hurt. Because he healed me that night, to break me once more.

"Baby," I heard from behind, and I stared at Trunks, and he stared at me, and then he smiled at her. "I've been looking for you _everywhere_."

She was holding a red plastic cup and handed it towards Trunks—which he rejected—before wrapping an arm behind his back the way I've always wanted to. And then I saw the index finger, on her left hand with electric pink nails resting on the black jacket's wool.

"Oh," the blonde snapped as she saw me staring at the ring on her pink finger. "Isn't it huge?" and for a second, she sounded like one of those rich women.

_But she technically already is_

"Are you two..?"

"We are!" she said, before I could even finish the phrase, before he could even explain. But now that I mention it, it doesn't even make sense. Explain _what_?

_But he knows what you feel_

And sometimes it feels good to be smarter than my subconscious mind. I'm not something he should worry about. My feelings won't stop his. The world just keeps spinning.

"Right after we graduate, we'll…" blah, blah, blah. Like I care. But it was okay. It was understandable. Who wouldn't be excited to be the forthcoming Mrs. Briefs?

I don't exactly remember what happened after that. Who left first? What did I say? Did I even wish them well? Whatever, somehow I ended up at home, high-heels on hand, burning feet. And as Uncle Goten goes straight to bed with this tired smile on his face, I hear typing, and I know where it comes from. I knock on his open door.

"Dad?" I say, as he keeps typing on that geezer he calls a typewriter, but I think it's older than that. "Dad," I say once more, a little harsher than before. "_Gohan_." And it's kind of sad, but I'm starting to believe that he doesn't even remember he has a daughter who calls her _that_.

"Oh, hey Pan." And back to typing. "Had fun?"

"Yeah, lots. You?"

"Oh, _yeah_." Then turns around on the spinning chair he's sitting on. "Having a monster as a boss is a blast."

And I "tsk" a laugh, maybe because I don't have enough energy to actually laugh or the knot in my throat won't let me. "Funny."

"It was, wasn't it?" and he spins back to his typewriter. "I think you should call it a night." So I did. I stomped every step up the stairs until finally letting myself drop on the bed.

I'm staring at the ceiling with the cheap stars gramps pasted back when I was like, I don't know, ten years old. They used to shine in the dark, and I used to think they were cool because I imagined being an astronaut. Now it's sort of nostalgic, a good excuse to cry without being caught that I'm actually crying over a boy, a guy. Pathetic.

That was it. It was the time to shed the held back tears, I felt them coming. But I didn't even have tears to hold back, my eyes weren't even watery. But the hole in my chest was getting wider and I felt it invading my lungs, it was suffocating. The emptiness ached like hell.

* * *

Just wanted you guys to know that Gohan _is_ alive and that he _is_ Pan's father. Sorry if you think it's too much drama and sadness I personally think it's kinda getting boring :/ I'll try to make it happier :-) Mahalo!


	6. Chapter 6

**Polkadotpublicity: Lol! I'm doing something right then!**

**Charismatic Beauty: Yes, Trunks is unwittingly cruel. Here you go!**

**AnotherDamnMexican19: Well, it's something I'm planning to reveal through the plot. Enjoy!**

**Queenies: A rainbow always follows a hurricane!**

* * *

**Trunks**

Okay. Breathe in… Breathe out…

How is this even happening?

A nostalgic feeling keeps building in my chest, as I keep throwing and catching a baseball over my face (rhyme). Why do I have to over-think this? The smell of the dusty leather of my old glove reminds me of old days. Singleness, man I'll miss that so much. What if I would've never stolen Marron from Goten? Would they be waiting for a baby too?

I just graduated. I'm supposed to have fun and be wild and be free. I mean, I love Marron, like, a lot. I could've imagined her as my wife in some future, when we were mature enough. When her midnight-self would turn into her all-time-self. I hope the wedding takes away that stubborn and childish side of hers, plus this regretful feeling that's eating me away. But now that I think about it, I probably would've given us some space.

Instead of being a reach, young, and probably single CEO, I'll be changing fucking diapers.

Shoot. Catch. Shoot. Catch. I could do this for forever. It's so relaxing. I can put my mind somewhere else rather than my problems. Shoot. Catch. Shoot. Face. _Ouch._

Why not patch up with Goten?

_He most likely hates you_

Yeah, I should better not.

I sit up on the edge of my bed, I think I heard mom yelling? I wasn't sure until Bulla quietly opened my door and motioned me with one of her hands to come. So I did, I tiptoed towards the door and to the hallway, gave a glance to the alarm clock on the nightstand—1 a.m.—, and turned the knob as I slowly closed the door, seeking not to make any noise. Checked.

Mom runs a hand through her helmet blue hair. I know this can't be good. She does that fairly often when she's arguing with dad or when I told her about her coming grandchild.

"Shit…" she swore under her breath. Okay, there has never been a work call that doesn't make her angry, but she _never_ swears, at least not through the call. Perhaps she's tired, and she just wants to go to bed. Wait, why are they calling her from work past midnight?

"Uh-huh. Yes I saw them– but they were perfectly fine last month! No… but– of course, but I'm not– I'M NOT SELLING THE BUSINESS!" she smacked the phone back to it's place. I slowly looked up at Bulla, who was already staring at me with a frantic expression.

"It's all gone." She tells dad, who, like always, seems apathetic about it. "Kids, come down, I know you're there."

I've always wondered how she does that, because it's not the first time we sneak into this kind of private issues. I guess practice makes the master. And of course, we always get some sort of serious talk about the situation.

We watch her pace slowly back and ford on the living room's wooden floor with her bare feet, figuring a way to tell us something I might already know.

"We're broke." She just spits it out like that, flat out, bluntly. She sighs. "E. Corp is making CC part of them. Last month, we were trying to…"

I stopped listening, not only because it was boring or it's a bad habit I've developed when any adult speaks to me, but because I knew enough to punch a wall or a person. These are too many things to assimilate. Does this mean I'm not longer being a CEO? I've been waiting for that job since I was in diapers, or a fetus, or an embryo, and I'm not exaggerating.

"…So, we're basically poor."

"Question," Bulla raises her hand as eager as I bet she does in school. "If you're not selling the business, what are you going to do then?"

"Well," gives a look to dad at the background. "We'll put the house in rent, so we can keep earning money. We'll also have to borrow your savings, we'll cover it up as soon as we can."

"What about the rest of the workers?" Bulla asks. "What about your personal assistant?"

"Wait," I say, before mom could say another word. "So this means we'll have to _move_ out?"

"Yes." She says, slowly, unsure about my, our reaction.

"Oh!" Bulla raises her hand, again. "I'll go to a friend's house."

Well, that fits just fine. I'll go to Grandma Bunny's, which means I'll get my own room and won't have to share a bed or a bathroom–

"You'll take care of your fiancé."

_UH?_

"Isn't it of bad luck to live with your fiancé before getting married?" I ask, because who in the world would want to lead with a pregnant _teenager_?

"Isn't it of bad luck to expect a baby before getting married?" Bulla snaps back, earning a glare from me. Nosy traitor.

**…**

A mess. That's precisely what I am, not only in present tense but also as a whole. I was, am, and most likely, will. It feels useless throwing punches at nothing but mere air. If it weren't because of dad, I would've hung a sandbag in here already.

A massive amount of an invisible weight drops me flatly on the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" The inert voice of my father rumbles the round walls of the Gravity Machine.

"What are _you_ doing?" I ask back, the force of gravity squeezing my cheeks against the iron ground. He literally has my life pending on the tip of his index and thumb fingers. It only takes one movement, one slow twist to the right to crash me to death. I'd think it wouldn't be such a bad idea, if only the fact of dying like if I were in Jupiter without actually being in Jupiter wasn't rather pathetic and, God, so painful.

"Get up." He commands from behind me. I got this feeling he's strong enough to endure the weight on his back, and remain standing.

"I can't." I babble, my cheeks are pressed too tightly together so it sort of deranges my voice.

I think I felt something hitting my ribs, but I can't be sure. My body went fully and completely numb.

"Ouch." I say, a statement more than an expression.

"Will you mess up your training too?" I thought he thought I'd already done that, and if he doesn't, he sure will now. Training against my father, with over 20 m/s2 on my back might be a good and deserving punishment.

So I try to stand up. My arms push my chest as my elbows start shaking. And after 5 long minutes later, I'm, um, more or less settled. A ton over my shoulders makes me hunch, it's like carrying an elephant on your back.

I sigh, raising and dropping my chest. "Give me everything you've got."

* * *

**Possibly relevant and useful fact: Gravity= 9.8 m/s****2****. Physics ;)**


End file.
